


Fear The Angels

by Tod der Fata Morgana (AlleyWalk_writes)



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alma Karma has ADHD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Autistic Kanda, Biromantic Homosexual Kanda, Black Allen, Child Neglect, Demisexual Allen Walker, F/F, Gen, Genderfluid!Allen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Luanians/Inhumans, M/M, Masquerade!persona, Nonbinary Alma Karma, PTSD Allen, Panromantic Heterosexual Lavi, Trans!Lavi, Vigilante!Allen, Vigilantism, asexual!Lenalee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyWalk_writes/pseuds/Tod%20der%20Fata%20Morgana
Summary: People are not born heroes or villians; they're created by the people around them.~Chris ColferBright lights. Loud sounds. Mana's face swimming before him. His arm, twisting and changing before his eyes. And Mana's red, red blood splattered up his arm, warm and sticky on his face.Allen wakes up.~*Suddenly, there's the cold prick of the tip of a knife on his spine, and Lavi instantly stills. A small bead of blood runs down his back, and a block of ice drops in Lavi's stomach."Gimme your money and no one gets stabbed.” The man says.Lavi swallows, his throat tight. Great. Just great.





	1. The Cursed Watch

_ The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness. And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream.” _

_ ~Khalil Gibran _

* * *

It’s a normal Thursday afternoon, the sun shining through the window panes, painting the room in shades of gold. The shower is running in the bathroom adjacent to Allen’s room, Allen the sole occupant of the house as is usual these days. Allen’s in the middle of rinsing his neck-length hair when his watch beeps that ever exhausting tune. 

“Fuck!” He swears, clambering out of the shower, nearly slipping and falling in his haste. What could it possibly be now? He wonders. Rushing to put on his clothes, the wetness of his skin from the half-finished shower making the clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, wet and clammy as he pulls his long-sleeved shirt over his head. Quickly donning his ever-present black gloves, he wipes the soap out of his eyes, wincing at the sting. Tucking tangled white hair out of his eyes, Allen ignores the sudsy water streaming down his face and back. 

Bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors, he grabs his black, golden fur lined hoodie off the coat rack and wriggles into it, checking the pockets to make sure everything he needs is still in it, and just has time to snatch his black and gold half-mask off the side table and strap it in place before the watch lets out an ominous,  **Bee-Beep! Bee-Beep! Bee-Beep! Bee-Beep!**

Can’t a guy just take a shower in peace for once? Allen thinks.

With a  _ Vworp _ , and sickening wrench, Allen is gone.

* * *

The early morning sun peeks over the ridge of the cracked, sun-beaten street, the sky tinged with countless shades of red and pink and orange, a light breeze moving through the trees off Milham Park. The early rush workers take no mind of this, driving petal to the mettle through the streets, people laying on their horns or giving a fellow hated driver the finger. Other workers walk to their day jobs, one of them being Lavi Bookman.

Lavi is walking down the sidewalk, and is decidedly having a Not Good Day. First he wakes up late for his first day of work, then he must have somehow lost his 5-Hour-Energy, with how tired he was. He can’t really remember the morning very well, but he walks to his first day of work at the local library in a fog. He’s having some problems remembering how to get there; he had to stop and ask a person walking by twice the way to the library, even though he’s sure he memorized how to get there. 

Or did he?

Man, his head hurts. His stomach gives an unpleasant lurch, and then he’s stumbling into an alley, vomiting up what looks like breakfast. Wow, that does not look as appetizing coming up as it does going down. Well, better out than in, as they always say.

Resting his forehead on the cool brick wall, the world spinning dizzily around him while his stomach cramps up, Lavi wonders just what the hell happened this morning. There’s a sound of a footstep behind him, and the rasp of metal on metal, and then there’s a sharp prick of a knife at Lavi’s back. A block of ice drops in Lavi’s stomach, a small trickle of blood making its way down Lavi’s spine.

“Gimme your money and no one gets stabbed.”

Lavi swallows. Great. Just great. He takes a deep breath and, remembering the advice he’s heard about what to do if you get mugged, lifts his arms and says, as calmly as he can through the beat of his heart in his throat, “My wallet’s in my front pocket. If you take the knife away, I can reach for it.” It was actually in his back pocket, but Lavi didn’t want to take the chance of getting knifed in the back.

The tension in the air is balanced on a knife’s edge between safety and something unnameable, Lavi’s heart thudding loudly in his ears. “Alright.” Says the man, something changing in his voice that Lavi can’t name. He removes the knife from Lavi’s back. 

Lavi turns around slowly. The man has brown-black hair that is waved over on top, the rest cut to mold to the planes of his face. He’s caucasian, and has green eyes, with a long scar going down the right side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheek, wearing a black eye patch over his right eye. He’s wearing a rather worn black suit and shoes with a spades symbol on the front. He’s also pointing a switchblade at Lavi. His eyes are irritated, his mouth a twisted grimace, and he gestures at Lavi with the knife. “Get a move on, kid.”

Lavi breathes in, breathes out. Adrenaline running through his system, he reaches into his back pocket and reaches out, wallet in hand. The man reaches back. It’s like time slows, that one second stretching endlessly with Lavi’s wallet passing between them. 

Time speeds up again when the wallet enters the man’s hand. He pockets it quickly, then frowns, shaking his head. “Bad luck, kid.”

He lashes out with the knife, and Lavi tilts, his vision skewing sideways. Oh, shit! That did not just happen! 

His head pounding, through the terror and nausea and pain of his head, it takes him a while to figure out that he is, in fact, alive, and is not bleeding out any time soon. He blinks, vision clearing, and looks up from the ground at his black-hoodie’d savior.

Who-?

* * *

Allen grabs the mugger’s knife arm, quickly pressing down on his thumb to force him to drop the knife, keeping hold of the arm to punch the mugger in the nose. Cartilage crunches underneath his fist, blood and snot flowing onto his hand. The mugger snarls, blood streaming down his face, and kicks Allen’s feet out from under him, giving Allen a savage kick to the head, and Allen sees white.

Blood begins to trickle down the side of Allen’s head, and Allen blinks to clear the stars out of his vision, feeling woozy. The mugger dives for the knife, which Allen had stupidly left lying on the floor of the alley, but Allen flows to his feet, stumbling a bit, and then delivers a sloppy roundhouse kick to the mugger’s head. His foot hits the guy’s head with a sickening sound, and then the mugger slumps to the ground, out cold.

Fumbling inside his pocket, he grabs two zip-ties and binds the mugger’s arms and legs together, reaching down to check his pulse. It seems strong, though irregular; Allen hopes that when they take him in the police will allow doctors to check him over.

But that’s not really his problem, right now.

Picking up the knife and putting it in a ziplock bag, Allen turns to the muggee, standing back a bit, watching him work, and asks, “are you alright, kid?”

* * *

Lavi startles. He hadn’t expected this person to actually talk to him. And, to be honest, after the long day he’s had, he’d rather just crawl back into bed and nurse his pounding headache rather than capitalize on an opportunity like this.

But. That distinctive mask. That black and gold hoodie. And that uncanny way of appearing just when danger strikes. He had to be. Masquerade. Or at least, some guy in Masquerade merchandise. 

Better seize his chance to talk to him while he can. Gramps would never forgive him if he didn’t.

But really, talking to a real life superhero had to be worth it, either way.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Lavi says, running his hands through his hair. “Are  _ you _ okay? You took a pretty nasty hit there, y’know?”

And it had made him feel so powerless, being held at knife point, his life at the whim of his attacker, all for a few twenty dollar bills. It was all just so horribly terrifying and horribly pointless that he felt tired and sick of it all. He hated being powerless.

And he hated not knowing what was going to happen next.

Masquerade smiles, bluebell blue eyes beneath the clown half-mask kind and reassuring. Wow. His smile really is  _ that _ kind. Like a smile you give to others rather than for yourself.

He scratches the side of his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re alright, um…?” 

Ha. He knew it. He is so winning that bet with Choaji. 

“Lavi." Lavi says with a grin, "Lavi Bookman.” Adjusting his headband, he overtly wipes his palm on his thigh to get rid of the sweat before reaching out his hand.

“Masquerade.” The person in question says, with a polite smile. Their hands meet, Masquerade’s glove velvety and soft as they shake hands.

They seperate, Masquerade reaching up to adjust their mask. “Pronouns?” Lavi asks, questioningly. He leans up against the brick wall and crosses his arms across his chest, ready for any sort of answer.

Masquerade practically lights up. They grin, white teeth flashing. The dark alley around them is filled with discarded pop cans, boxes, broken beer bottles, plastic circles that nobody had bothered to cut, old and rotten food as well as other grime and detritus on the ground that Lavi had unfortunately become acquainted with. There is a dumpster off to the side that makes the alley reek of garbage and rotten food, holding garbage bags in it that have long since long burst, but if Masquerade isn’t going to say anything, neither is Lavi. The mid-morning sun casts long shadows on the alley, setting Masquerade’s light brown skin and fine features in chiaroscuro.

“He/They pronouns.” Masquerade answers, tucking a piece of white hair behind their ear, “I’m using male pronouns today. What about you?”

Lavi bounces on his feet. “Just male pronouns! Oh, and I just got top surgery done!” He says with a grin.

Masquerade grins, leaning toward him. “Really? That’s awesome!”

Lavi blinks, and examines Masquerade more closely. All the theorists opined Masquerade to being an adult; he’d have no time to do what he did on a regular basis, otherwise. But just then, Masquerade had sounded, well… sounded like a kid. And looking at him now, he was actually  _ shorter _ than Lavi, and he wasn’t even wearing any shoes. And… were his clothes… slightly damp? Y’know what, Lavi didn’t even want to know. 

But he was just standing there, barefoot, among broken glass and all kinds of bacteria, and being totally chill about it.

Though, this was not unusual for the hero. He arrived on crime scenes in various odd situations; in his underwear, while bottle feeding a kitten, while shopping for groceries. And damn did that video of him catching a purse snatcher with a kitten in his hoodie get millions of hits; it was just so darn cute, damn it!

But, if Masquerade is a kid, then… Lavi’s not sure he’s okay with this. If it’s an adult then, yeah, that’s fine, but a kid? A kid his age even? That’s… not in the realm of being okay.

Ice trickles down Lavi’s spine, his hair raising, goosebumps prickling on his arms. Fear chokes Lavi, grabbing his heart with an icy fist and squeezing. He can’t think. He can’t move. A knife appears lightning-quick in Masquerade’s hand, he shoots Lavi a reassuring look, and turns toward the mugger’s position. 

_ “Shit.” _ Masquerade hisses, and Lavi, the fear receding, looks.

But he’s gone.

“Stick close to me.” Masquerade tells him, and Lavi does, heart still beating like a rabbit in his chest. As he stalks forward, movements lithe as a hunting cat’s, Lavi follows.

But there isn’t much to find. The man is gone, and all that he left behind him are the impossibly broken zip-ties discarded on the ground. After Masquerade puts those in evidence bags, he says, “I’m sorry. It looks like you’ll have to do a bit more than make a statement.”

Lavi sighs.

This is going to be a long day. 


	2. Two-Faced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the mugging on Lavi, some new character introductions, and you get to meet Allen's Masquerade persona.

_ “People who are two faced, usually forget which mask they are wearing at some point in their life.” _

_ ~Anthony T. Hincks _

* * *

The small deli shop was bustling with activity. It was spattered with bright wallpaper and varnished wooden tables and cushy booths, the hardwood floor scratched and beaten down yet clean. Customers lined up at the order line, picking out their sandwiches and talking to each other in a clamor of loud voices. It was almost enough to make Lavi forget why he was here. Lavi sat hunched at the booth off in a quiet corner in his rather comfortable squishy seat, wincing at the bright lights and loud voices in the room, nausea churning in his guts.

Sitting across from Lavi were two female police officers. One had long red hair and light grey eyes, with freckles speckled all over her cheeks like eggs. The other had green eyes, and long black hair in a braid, with a burn scar down one cheek. They had shortly introduced themselves as Genet and Etari Yen, asked Lavi if he had anyone who could come with him for the interview considering he was a minor, and when Lavi said no, Genet had offered herself as stand-in, and then the silence had descended. On the wall, the clock ticked out the seconds, and Lavi couldn’t help but notice that they were not in police headquarters, but rather in a public setting. 

And the interview had yet to start.

Lavi frowns, replaying that thought. Why would they not start the interview? I mean it’s not like he’s the only witness-!

Lavi’s eyes widen.

Could it be?

But, Masquerade is a vigilante.

How could he possibly be interviewed for a witness statement without being unmasked?

And in public no less!

Whatever it was, things were looking fishy. He needed more information, and fast.

“So,” Lavi asks, leaning back in his seat and giving them both a curious look, “why all the hush and bother, you two?”

Etari blinks, then looks over and elbows her partner in the side.

“Oh!” Genet says, bouncing up in her seat. “Well, we’re just waiting for the last person to come in for questioning. He has to take a bit of a back way, on account of him being a masked vigilante, but we got that covered, right, hon?”

Etari sighs through her nose, though there was a small smile on her face. “Yes, of course we do. Quit worrying so much! He’ll be fine. It’s not like the guy hasn’t sneaked in without anyone noticing dozens of times before now. One more won’t make much difference.” She says with a shake of her head, running her fingers through the mop of curls on top of her head.

Lavi blinks. There was only one person they could be talking about. And he had connections in the local police force? This needed further investigation.

There’s a quiet  _ tap  _ of a footstep on wooden floorboards, and then Masquerade slips into the booth beside Lavi, as silent as a shadow.

Lavi lifts an eyebrow. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

Masquerade sighs as he slides in across from Detective’s Genet and Etari Yen. 

He had just barely had time to make it here, after he managed to dodge the numerous reporters to make his statements with Newsdeer Weekly, where he had an understanding with the head of the department, a very nice Native American man by the name of Inali DeAngelus.

“Masquerade! Good to see you again.” Inali had said, running his hand over his pulled back black hair before holding out his hand with a genuine smile. The various desk workers looked up from their frantic typing, the frenetic air of the busy office space dropping as all eyes turned to peer up at Masquerade from where they’re hunched over their desks, faces glowing eerily from the light of their computer screens.

“And you as well.” Masquerade had greeted, the two of them by passing a handshake to grip each other by the wrist, in what Inali had called a warrior’s clasp.*

With a friendly smile, tucking a pencil behind his ear, Inali said, “why don’t you come back to my office, and I’ll take your statements for this week’s front page.”

Masquerade nodded with a devil’s smile, “Alright.” He reaches up to adjust his mask, smoothing down his hood over his damp, tangled hair.

With a smirk, Masquerade tucked his hands in his pockets and slouched in a borderline insolent gesture, and followed into the office. 

Inali’s office was a mess like always. His desk was covered in paperwork and newspaper clippings, the printer and computer so buried that Masquerade wasn’t sure how he used those devices for anything. Not even the floor had been spared. Old coffee mugs laid discarded on the desk, and the room smelled of gunpowder from Inali’s many trips to the shooting range.

“Here, here, sit down.” Inali said, clearing off the chair adjacent to the desk of a stack of forgotten papers. This actually reminded Masquerade a lot of Etari’s office. Unlike Inali, though, who couldn’t find a thing in his office, Etari had a precise order to the chaos. Or so she said, anyway. 

Masquerade sat, and Inali sat at desk across from him. He began typing on his computer. Masquerade wasn’t worried. He knew Inali would give him a copy of anything he wrote before publishing, and just that agreement would curb any decent reporter’s tongue.

“So? What’s the scoop today, Masquerade?” Inali asked.

Masquerade had told him the bare bone of the tale; how he had arrived to find a mugger about to stab a guy and had pulled him out of the way, proceeded to beat the shit out of the mugger until he was knocked cold, and was taking the witness to make a statement when the mugger disappeared.

“Disappeared?” Inali asked, his voice sharp. “What do you mean?”

Masquerade shrugged. “I dunno.” He says, tapping his fingers on his thighs. He considered, then decided, fuck it. “I mean, there was this weird chill, y’know? ‘N Suddenly I felt scared, even though I knew I had everything under control. So I turned ‘round and the guy was gone. The zip-ties just… snapped.”

Inali had stopped typing. There was tension thrumming in the air, and Inali was staring at him intensely. “Have you ever felt things like that before?” He asked, softly. Masquerade felt a sudden danger present in the room, looming above him and pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.

Masquerade breathed in, breathed out. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you! 

Masquerade tilted his head. “Sometimes, yeah.” He frowned, then looked up, curious. “Why, have you?”

Inali smiled. “No. Just curious.”

The danger retreated, and the rest of the interview went without incident. Masquerade was able to stop and buy a hairbrush and leave-in conditioner at the local convenience store so he could at least brush his at this point very tangled hair.

He hadn’t even had time to get himself re-oriented with the timeline. He had no idea how long or how far he’d travelled; he only knew he’d gone forward, because that was the way his watch's hands hand been turning before he got here.

Ugh.

Nevermind.

Quickly putting his lockpick set away, Masquerade slumps in his chair, looking across at the two detectives. He had made a mistake, earlier, by acting more Allen-ish around Lavi. Not that he had meant to. It was just hard to remember, sometimes, which mask he was wearing. Allen and Masquerade, Masquerade and Allen. Or were they the same person from the start? Either way, it was time to erase that impression from his brain.

“So? Questions?” He asks, with a smug smirk.

“Yes, just to clear up some things.” Genet says. “We already got your statements over the phone, however we would like to get a general description of the man. Anything you can remember would be helpful.”

When Lavi opens his mouth, Genet says, holding up a hand, “Hold on a sec.” Taking out a tape recorder, she sets it to record and says, “This is Detectives Genet and Etari Yen interviewing Lavi Bookman and one anonymous source with myself as stand-in guardian. The date is Saturday, September 3rd, 2016.” 

They both go through the incident again, Lavi starting with the start of the mugging.

“So, I wasn’t feeling too good on my way to work this morning, yeah?” Lavi starts up slowly, hesitantly.

“Ended up throwing up in an alleyway. I stopped to rest for a sec and then suddenly there’s a guy holding a knife to my back…” He shudders, his face pale, running his hands through his hair and looking down miserably, hugging himself. He’s clearly in shock, part of him still in that alleyway. Masquerade wonders if that part of him will ever leave there.

“And what happened next?” Etari asks. 

Genet shoot Etari a look and says to Lavi sympathetically, “do you need a break?”

Etari sighs, and Genet rolls her eyes and kicks her under the table. This resulted in a game of violent footsie, which Masquerade is pretty sure Genet orchestrated in the hopes of cheering Lavi up and Etari went along with because she loves Genet to pieces.

It seems to have the desired effect. Lavi snickers a bit behind his hand, eyes still weary and haunted, but lighter now, too. Masquerade shoots him an amused glance, and Lavi grins at him.

“I can keep going.” Lavi says, running his hands through his red hair and blowing out his breath in a gusty sigh.

“Alright,” Etari says, with an approving smirk and encouraging look, “So what happened next?”

“Well, the man asked me to give him my money. And I’ve read a lot of advice online…” 

“Oh, great.” Etari mutters.

“But the best one said to just stay calm, because if  _ you _ panic, you might panic your attacker, and just give them the money.” Lavi took a breath. Two. “It was weird, y’know? Almost like time slowed. And in between that interval, looking into that man’s eyes. I think a part of me realized that he wasn’t gonna stop at just money.” 

“Why do you say that?” Genet probs gently.

“‘Cause of his eyes. They were just so… cold. Uncaring. Like he didn’t care whether I lived or died; so long as he got something outta it.”

“What color were they?” Etari abruptly asks.

Genet holds up her hand, her expression going steely when she looks at her partner. “Descriptions at the end of the interview, Detective Yen.” Etari slouches in her seat with a scowl.

“And what happened next?” Genet asks.

“And then he tried to knife me.” Lavi says, his voice quiet. “Not sure what happened next, because then-”

“I pulled the guy outta the way.” Masquerade interrupts. He leaves the part out where he had just teleported there in time to see the mugger go for the kill. Of course he does.

“I meant to just pull him back, but he fell for some reason. I figured, better on the ground than dead, so I went and disarmed the mugger. There was a brief scuffle, and I knocked him out. I zip-tied his arms and legs together, and went to make sure Lavi was okay.”

Etari looks up sharply. “If you tied him up, how did he get away?”

Masquerade and Lavi look at each other. Lavi raises his eyebrows. Masquerade sighs.

“Here’s the strange part.” Masquerade says. “I admit I had my back toward him. But one second he was there, and the next he was gone. These were left at the scene.” He takes out the bags filled with the broken zip-ties and the knife and hands them over to the Detectives.

Genet frowns. “Did you check him for weapons?”

“Er, no.” Masquerade says, embarrassed.

“Probably a second knife then.”

“Most likely.” Masquerade agrees.

“Any description?” Genet asks, holding her pen poised over paper.

“He’s a vicious fighter,” Masquerade recalls. “Tough bastard. Didn’t even cry out when I broke his nose.” He shrugs. “Other than that I couldn’t say.”

“What good are you then?” Etari says, a joking smirk on her face.

Masquerade gives a devilish smile in return, leaning forward on his elbows. “My pretty face, I suppose?”

Etari snorts, picking up a file folder to disinterestedly flip through it. “Sorry, not interested. You’re a little too male for my taste.”

Genet elbows her partner in the side and shoots Masquerade a look.

“How about you?” She asks, turning to Lavi, “Do you remember anything?”

Lavi looks thoughtful. “...Y’know, I think he had a scar on the right side of his face. Like this, yeah?” He says, tracing a long line from his eyebrow down to his cheek.

Etari’s folders drop to the table at the same time as the table between them flips over, Masquerade just has time to catch it and then Etari is storming out of the restaurant. People part before her, her expression one Masquerade knows well.

The door slams shut with a jingle of the bell on the door.

Genet sighs. “Well, that was all we really needed from you. You both can go now.” Turning off the recording, she dismisses them to go after her partner.

* * *

Masquerade sneaks them out through convoluted and clichèd ways that include bathrooms and air vents, and then they’re walking on the sidewalk in the mid-fall weather. There are rows of trees beside the sidewalk, and shops advertise their wares through opens signs with bright flashing lights and display windows. The sidewalk itself is uneven, sloping upward or downward at it’s leisure, broken and cracked and bound to break your grandmama's back. Car’s blare by every so often, but aside from the morning rush it’s a small town; surrounded by forestry and the mountains nearby.

It’s always been relatively peaceful.

Or so Lavi thought.

“That was weird, yeah?” Lavi says, running his hand through his hair.

Masquerade shrugs. “Yeah, a little.” He says, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching slightly.

Lavi frowns at him. He scratches his head. “You okay?” 

Masquerade frowns at him in confusion, and he reaches up to tug at the tip of his hoodie, covering the white hair that had begun to be revealed. He then asks, with raised eyebrow, “Yeah? I’m fine. Why are you asking?”

Lavi shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Dunno, you just seem… different.” And it’s true; he was different. Masquerade’s personality, as well as a bit of his body language, had taken a complete 180 from the person he’d just met in that alleyway. 

Could it be that… the person he met in the alleyway was Masquerade’s hero persona, and this is who he really was?

But… no. If so, why was he only acting this way now? He wouldn’t act this way in front of the detectives unless  _ this _ was his hero persona. 

So… was it possible, that the person he’d met in the alleyway, was the genuine personality behind the mask?

And if so, why Lavi? He obviously didn’t know him. Perhaps just an honest mistake, a slip-up he was trying to cover up for now.

Interesting.

Masquerade shrugs. “This is how I’ve always been.”

Lavi nods. “Of course.”  _ My mistake. _

Masquerade looks at him suspiciously, before shrugging. “We should get on home ‘fore the  _ actual _ cops find us.” He says with a cheshire grin.

Lavi nods again, with a smile. Lavi wasn’t sure, but there was something… almost like the hero didn’t want to leave.

Exactly how lonely was this guy, just to latch onto the first person he’d met within his age group?

Well, maybe not the first. Lavi was probably flattering himself with that. But probably the first who saw him as a person rather than a face on a poster.

“Oh, here.” Lavi says, taking out a sharpie. “Take off one of your gloves for me.”

The hero frowns at him, and purposefully shoves his hands into his pockets. “No, thanks.”

Lavi shrugs. “Alrighty then.” He grins. Taking off the cap, he writes his number and his online handle on Masquerade’s right cheek.

At Masquerade’s look of confusion, Lavi says, “it’s my number and my online handle. In case you get lonely and need someone to vent all your angsty hero shit at someone! I’m here now. I’ve gotcha.” He says, shooting some finger pistols at him.

He blinks. “Thank you.” He looks totally stunned, and his eyes are blinking a lot through the mask. And, Lavi notices, the act dropped just for that one second.

Lavi smiles. “It’s no problem.” He rubs the back of his neck.

Masquerade clears his throat. “Yeah, well. Whatever.” He says, smoothing his hood down over his head.

“By the way,” Lavi says, a twinkle in his eye, “just so you know, it’s in permanent marker.”

“... _ What?!” _

Lavi snickers. And his head doesn’t hurt at all.

**Fear The Angels: Lose Fittings**

Masquerade can’t believe Lavi just did that. And he’s still standing there, laughing his ass off with his number written on permanently for who knew how long on Masquerade’s face. And then, suddenly, it hits him. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all.

The next morning after his shower, Lavi looked in the mirror to find himself with blue dyed skin. Written in the steamed up mirror was a phone number and online handle and the words:  _ Comeuppance. Chat me up anytime you like! ~M _

Lavi looks down at his blue dyed hands and groans. “This is so not good for my vanity…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Masquerade persona is _meant_ to be Black Allen. Don't worry, I'm still sorta working on him, so if you don't like him right now, fear not! Masquerade will hopefully get more IC of how I want him to be at some point in the future. I just also have lots of other stuff I'm working on too atm. OTL
> 
> Also, I basically just pulled that police procedural out of my ass, as I don't watch lots of cop shows and the ones that I used to watch I haven't in a long time. >.>
> 
> I'll try to watch some and try to get better, bc the police are going to have some plot factors in some places. (Which I'm excited about!)
> 
> *the warriors clasp is something I'm using for this 'verse and has nothing to do with Native American culture so far as I know. It is not meant to be offensive but rather to hint at something in-story. I apologize if I have offended anyone. I've done a lot of research about Native American culture, however there just isn't a lot of detailed information about it out there. (On the internet, at least.)  
> Again, sorry to anyone who was offended by this.
> 
> Also, no action this chapter, thanks for being patient about that. Luckily, things are speeding up in the next couple chaps, so look forward to that! ^^


	3. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavi stumbles home after the interrogation, well, after a detour, Allen is confused and generally angsty, and you get a new POV character, who is in a tricky situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for hearing voices, manipulation, and a non-graphic suicide attempt.(falling).
> 
> Stay safe, people.

_“Until you spread your wings you have no idea how far you’ll fly.”_

_~Anon_

* * *

Lavi Bookman stumbles home, his head pounding.

He had gotten to work late, and explained what had happened to a rather bemused head librarian, who had said, “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, sonny. You look a bit peakish, and I’d rather you had some rest at home than take a nap behind the shelves.” She laughed.

A native american girl with a dark braid down her back that had dyed her bangs blue cut in, dark eyes worried as she chewed on her lip before she said, “But Nanna! He doesn’t look so good, and he has symptoms of a concussion, not to mention his memory problems! We should take him to a hospital. Don’t you think?”

Nanna looked on with twinkling eyes, and looked Lavi in the face, staring into his eyes for so long that Lavi felt a bit intimidated. His ears rang, and his vision skewed to the side, his stomach doing an abrupt backflip, and suddenly it’s all he can do to make it to the waste basket.

Nothing but bile came up this time, and a hesitant hand was rubbing his back, Lavi wasn’t sure why. The physical contact itself felt strange and a little alarming; at least when it wasn’t initiated by him first.

Spitting into the mini trash can, Lavi looked up in confusion. “What are you doing?” He asked, his body gone stiff without his say-so and his pulse beating fast in his ears. Be slow, my heart.

The girl looked at him like he was a bit dull. “Rubbing your back to make you feel better?” She offered. “Nanna’s gone to get you a bottle of water out of the vending machine.”

Lavi blinked. “Oh.” Did someone do that for another person when they got sick? If they did, it was news to him.

Standing up and moving out from under her hand, and shoving his hands into his pockets, Lavi asked, “hey, so what’s your name?

“Irene.” At Lavi’s surprised look, she expanded, with a bitter look on her face, “My mother was white. My father left us before I was born, so my mother named me Irene. When mother… left this world, father came back. Yippee, am I right?”

“Sounds like a real asshole, yeah?” Lavi said.

Irene shrugged. “I suppose so.” She grinned. “So, Mr. Sir Chuck’s A Lot, any plans for All Hallow’s Eve?”

Lavi shrugged. He reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Dunno. Besides, it’s a whole month away, so we’ll most likely end up doing the same thing we do every year, y’know?”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

Lavi shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Leave the candy out with a ‘please take one’, sign.”

Irene scoffed. “That’s lazy talk, man! Where’s all your Halloween spirit?” She said teasingly.

Lavi laughed. “I guess it’s not really there at all, y’know?”

“Laaame.”

Nanna came into the room, cane thump-thumping against the carpet in time with her footsteps. Lavi leaned against the desk, suddenly feeling dizzy. He breathed in the welcome smell of old books and paper, trying to center himself. They were stationed in front of the check-out desk, and on top of the desk was an old computer with a library card scanner. The desk was overflowing with books that couldn’t fit onto the check-out cart, set by the glass and metal door and nestled between two adjacent bookshelves. The deep brown varnished bookshelves towered high above them, stacked and ordered neatly with books in all sorts of colors, titles, lengths and states of condition. Lavi itches to go through the whole library and understand how the sorting system works, maybe see if he can improve on it.

But his head hurts, his stomach is sick, and he _still_ can’t remember what happened this morning.

Taking the water out of ‘Nanna’s’ hands, Lavi sips at it and immediately feels better.

“Thanks, um… what should I call you?” _Please don’t say Nanna. Pleease don’t say Nanna. Please, if there’s any god listening-_

“Oh, just call me Nanna, dear! It’s what everyone calls me!”

Lavi sighed and then smiled. “Alright, well I’ll see you around later, yeah? I’m gonna head on home.”

“Are you sure?” Irene worried, wringing her hands.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the hospital as soon as I’m home with Gramps.”

“Well, alright…”

And so he was stumbling home, and when he finally got to his house, he was fumbling with the house keys, trying to remember which one opened the front door, when the door unlocked and Gramps poked his head out.

“Panda,” Lavi says in relief, stumbling inside. Panda frowns at him, his face swirling in and out of focus. He grips Lavi by the shoulders and says, “Lavi-”

Lavi blacks out.

* * *

Allen sighs as he collapses into his bedroom, freshly showered and hair newly brushed. Allen brushes back the sleeve on his right arm to look at his watch. It’s progressing steadily, the clock hands ticking forward at a normal rate, going neither too quickly forwards nor rotating backwards.

He had oriented himself in the timeline; the date was Saturday, September 3rd, 2016. It would be his second time playing out this particular day and his third time playing out this particular week.

He took out his log, the one thing that always seemed to stay with him no matter where he went, and wrote out an update.

_September 3rd, 2016,_

_Week 1, day 1._

Judging by patterns, he’d be in this particular week/month/year for a couple weeks to a month, with a general reprieve from teleportations/time hopping within that time frame. Which didn’t mean no crime fighting, just that he actually got to patrol the streets like a normal person.

Allen looks down at his shadow on the floor, and it seems to writhe and twist before his mind’s eye. He remembers Mana suddenly, all of the bad and none of the good, intruding upon his thoughts until he can’t clear them. He remembers everything horrible afterwards, all of the close-call fights, all of the times where he wasn’t sure he was going to make it, all of the times he was too late to save someone.

He lays down in bed for a while and takes his medication. It doesn’t help.

He looks at his phone, with the new contact number in it, then shakes his head. Not yet.

Allen gets up and decides to do something, get his body moving and his blood flowing, feel the wind on his face.

With a sigh, he exits his house.

* * *

Lenalee Lee stands on the top of a 70 storey apartment building, the wind roaring in her ears and her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. The wind blows her chin length hair wildly about her face, and Lenalee is inwardly grateful that her brother and now guardian had insisted she wear jeans to school today instead of the skirts she usually wears.

Lenalee sighs and reaches up to touch her medium-length, slightly curved outwards orange, yellow, and white striped horns. Luanians or rather “Inhumans” as the humans have named them, come in several forms. There are ones who are horned, like Lenalee, and have doe-like ears with fangs, claws and long tails tipped in a triangular point, or ones that have animal ears and tails, that have lesser fangs and claws, usually lower on the Hemospectrum.

The Hemospectrum is a caste system among the Luanian community, judged by blood color, from the rust bloods to the fuchsia bloods. Luckily for Lenalee, she herself is fuschia blooded, gifting her with a station that in some lights could be called royalty. Luanian young used to be left out to fend for themselves by their parents, but after the humans had declared that abandoning your young at an early age was “inhumane”, everything had changed.

The humans got their claws into everything, and now no grubs have been kicked out _or_ eaten for nearly a century. But Lenalee still has the worst luck, it seems, with landing the Emperor and former Empress for a brother. Even the same fuschia blood flows through their veins. While Luanians have longer lifespans the farther you go up the Hemospectrum, the Luanians farther up the Hemospectrum also have the most trouble bearing viable offspring. Which is why Lenalee can have a brother centuries older than her and still have parents that are alive, if not expecting her arrival into this world.

She was a bit of an accident.

So it’s safe to say that Lenalee has had quite a lot of experience with her family so far, and so she honestly isn’t very thrilled at the thought of being brought up by the Emperor himself. The man who brought thousands of Luanians to their knees and used to rule over them all with cold calculation and ruthless efficiency.

He changed his image with the times, but Lenalee’s sure that the Emperor, or Komui Lee as he insists she call him, is still the same person on the inside.

Shaking her head, she rids herself of these thoughts.

Biting her lip nervously, Lenalee shivers in the cold of the biting wind. “I’m not sure I can do this!” She yells into the wind. 

****

_**Lenalee, don’t you WANT to fly?** _The voice was harmonic, musical. Beautiful in every way. Lenalee loved her, and knew that she loved her back and would do anything for her.

But this…

“I don’t want to. I’m scared. What if I actually fall?” Lenalee frets, chewing on her lip. Her fangs dig into flesh, and pink fuschia blood flows down her lip.

 **_You won’t. You have me, remember? Don’t you trust me, Lenalee?_ **The voice pleads.

Lenalee hesitates. “Of course I do. But…”

**_And here I thought we were friends._** The voice accuses.

“Of course we’re friends!” Lenalee exclaims. “But… do I really have to… jump?”

**_It’s the only way._ **

Right. It was the only way. She had to help Maria, and in order to do that, she had to make a choice. She wasn’t sure how falling off a 70 storey building was supposed to help, but Maria was her friend, and honestly, Lenalee was starting not to care one way or the other.

Her life sucked, so either way, she didn’t really care if she died or not anymore. She is swimming in a pool of blessed numbness when she climbs up onto the railing, holding out her arms for balance.

There’s a moment of weightlessness.

She jumped.

She flew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~okay so I might be a huge Homestuck fan and anyone who doesn't like it can suck it.~~ Anyway, anyone not knowledgeable about such things will get an explanation in the text, so it shouldn't be a problem, as I have also changed some things around that any Homestuck fan will still need an explanation for.
> 
> No HS characters at this moment, I'm still working on getting all the D. Gray-Man ones in here. >.>
> 
> Thanks to everyone for all the kudos, and the people who just looked to make my hit count go up higher!
> 
> You guys are the best. :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, things are starting off slowly, right now this is just set up, but I can promise the main four plus Alma and a few others as well.  
> However, this is also going to have some OCs as necessity for the main plot, sorry folks, they're here to stay, even if they're not the _main focus_ , (which they won't be), they will have some moments here or there, mostly as plot devices.  
> Now I do have a rough plan for this fic, however I've figured out, through many fics that I've lost interest in once I figured out the ending, that part of the fun for me is finding out the ending myself with the characters!  
> So, here's to hoping I don't screw this up! ^^;


End file.
